Enough
by Sparcck
Summary: Epilogue to X-Men #98: After Cyclops' death and Apocalypse's tricks with time, Jean Grey returns to the present to find that she must face life without Scott for a second time.


Enough  
by [Sparcck][1]

Rating: PG (Angst, angst, angst)   
Classification: Romance/Angst  
Setting: Directly after the events in X-Men #98  
Spoilers: X-Men #97-98  
Summary: After Cyclop's death and Apocalypse's tricks with time, Jean Grey returns to the present time to find that she has to face life a second time without Scott.  
Archive: Please! Just drop me a line to let me know where it's going.  
Disclaimer: All characters copyright Marvel. No own, no harm, no money, no sue.  
Feedback: All comments, criticism, flames, marriage proposals, and death threats should be sent to [sparcck@hotmail.com][1].

Note: I think you can read this without having read the aforementioned issues. But it _will_ spoil you as to what took place, so... you have been warned.

Thanks: I'd like to thank my beta reader Chrissy: for wading though a ton of my crap and never once complaining, for reading this with hardly a clue as to what was going on and still giving me great feedback, for accepting sap fests for what they are and still thinking they're valid forms of expression, for _really_ wanting to know what happened on the season finale of Dawson's Creek, for suggesting we see X-Men for the millionth time with no pushing on my part (hey, 12th time's a charm, right?), and for getting angry about things that I probably should but don't have the energy to. MONKEY!

* * *

  
_Soon all the joy that pours from everything  
Makes fountains of your eyes.  
Because you finally understand  
The movement of a hand  
Waving goodbye._  
-Bright Eyes 

_"Oh, God, it really is… It's really over."_  
-Jean Grey, X-Men #98

  
That statue. That damn holographic statue from the future that she thought was reality was all at once the most horrible yet wonderful thing she had ever seen. 

He looked so strong, so vibrant - too alive, because he had been dead for so long. But he hadn't let go of her, and she didn't think she wanted him to.

She closed her eyes for a second, remembering his touch, his smile, the feeling of his voice in her mind. Times like those, every time she was faced with a physical memory of the man she'd lost, her heart ached like it had the morning she had woken up to find it hadn't been just a nightmare.

Scott Summers was gone.

Scott. Her life.

But now here she was: back to the real present only a short time after Scott's death, having awoke to find that part of it _had_ been a dream, but not the part she had hoped for. And she was living a different nightmare, one where she had to go through life a second time without him.

Her nails dug into her knees and her eyes burned from the heat of the fireplace she sat in front of. _I can't do it again_, she thought. _I just barely made it through once without him_.

Suddenly the house felt too big, too empty, and she knew she couldn't stay there. She propelled herself out of the chair she sat in, his chair that still carried his scent. It lingered on her clothes, _his_ clothes, and she closed her eyes, bringing up her arm to bury her nose in the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Apocalypse had said the future he'd shown them was the inevitable, that it was more a preview than an illusion. But a part of her couldn't help hoping it was even less than that; that instead it was a possibility of what the future could be.

Leaving open the possibility of Scott's return.

She had seen the same thought in the Professor's eyes when he watched her leave. For a second, their eyes met across what seemed to be a canyon, even though it was only a few feet. Their minds synched.

There was a brief part of that second where all the hope Charles Xavier harbored in his heart for life, the hope that had brought them together in the first place, gave her pause, and she considered turning back. X-Men stick together.

Suddenly, an image drifted through both of their minds at once, coating whatever hope they both had in a sticky haze of red.

Scott's shattered visor, his uniform torn, his face melting away before her eyes. The moment, the most horrible moment in the young telepath's life, when his mind was suddenly gone and a coldness she had never felt before swept through her.

* * *

  
She knew a split second before it happened, heard the apology in his mind, saw all of the love in his heart for her as he turned to her for one last look, his beautiful eyes finally visible through the broken shards of ruby quartz.

~Whatever happens, I love you.~

"Scott!" She forgot how to speak. That one word was the only thing left to her as she felt her mind literally caving in on itself, unable to process what was happening right in front of her.

She had to be restrained, or she would have launched herself right after Scott, right into Apocalypse. Anything to stop him or to be with him. 

When it was over, she dimly heard the Professor behind her saying, "...as for Scott's spirit... I can sense nothing."

She wouldn't accept it, and she flung her mind out, desperately reaching, seeking that brush of Scott's mind in hers.

And found nothing. _Nothing_. And with him went half of her soul.

* * *

  
The Professor looked down, breaking the connection first, and Jean turned away. 

_X-Men stick together._ Those were Scott's X-Men. But then everything had started to fall apart, and they all scattered, Jean and Scott included. Jean had sworn they would have a family, would have as normal a life as possible. 

And then it was all torn away.

There wasn't even a thought of not going when the X-Men needed help. This was their family, and Scott was nothing if he was not loyal.

And brave and handsome and warm and funny and tender and sometimes uptight...

She choked back a sob. 

Anger surged up in her as she thought of Xavier and how he had sent a man whom he considered his son to his death. Xavier and his dream and his army of X-Men, who would do anything for him.

Who would die for him.

He must have known that Scott wouldn't stop until Apocalypse had been destroyed. Cyclops -- the leader -- wouldn't stop, and Scott -- the husband, the father, the friend -- sure as hell wouldn't stop. If anything, Scott was infinitely more stubborn than Cyclops ever was, even if most people had it the other way around; it was just that Cyclops was harder on the outside. 

But _Scott_ was the one who sacrificed himself to save them. _Scott_ was the one who was gone now and who would never come back. And they would all remember the stubborn leader with no sense of humor.

She would remember so much more. _That look in his eyes just before..._

The anger just kept coming now and she felt like she would cave in on herself under the weight of it. She thought more and more about what Apocalypse had shown them, about how she and Charles had barely exchanged more than pleasantries in those long years. Of course they hadn't. He had let Scott die. She would never forgive him.

But it wasn't his fault. He loved Scott, too.

Not as much as I did. Scott was part of me. I'm missing half of myself now. And the Professor...

* * *

That moment when she had sensed Scott in Apocalypse, she had never felt so alive, never felt so much hope. There were flashes of their life together, and she saw him. _I _saw_ him_.

_~Scott!~ _

Stopping Cable from destroying Apocalypse, and his own father along with him, wasn't even a question.

"I've waited a lifetime for this moment!" Cable rounded on her. "He deserved to die!"

"But Scott doesn't, Nathan..." Everyone looked at her like she was insane. 

And when Cable put his hand towards her, gently, and said quietly, "Scott is _dead_, Jean. We were all there. We saw it happen," he looked so like his father that she lost the precious thread of control holding her together.

"He's still _alive_ in that thing, I _swear_..."

Now the looks were ones of pity. Cable's eye flashed. "Another of Apocalypse's mind games, nothing more!"

"No! Listen to me, please!" She turned to Professor Xavier and tried not to see the expression on his face. She had never needed more assurance in her life. "You heard him, didn't you, Professor?"

Seeing the look in Xavier's eyes made her feel like she was going to die all over again.

"I... I'm sorry, child," he said, as gently as he could.

And then she _did_ die again, her ribs feeling as though they would collapse in and crush her heart, her mind numb and useless. She staggered and fell into Ororo's arms, sobbing. "Oh, God, it really is… it's really over."

* * *

  
A near scream rose unbidden in her mind and tore out of her mouth. She tangled her hands in her hair and yanked, hoping the physical pain would eclipse the emotional pain. 

It didn't.

She stumbled outside, into the snow, into the biting air, and she did nothing to stop it from whipping across her face, burning her skin. 

"Scott!" 

The wind took the word away but she heard it reverberating in her head.

"Please, God... I can't. I can't." She beat her fists against the bank of snow that was piling up around her and she struggled to her feet, half running, half falling, trying to get as far away from this house, from his memory, from herself, as she could. 

"The X-Men have a track record of coming out on top when the odds are stacked against us."

"You sound so certain..."

"Everything's going to be fine."

_"All right, all _right_. I love you, kid."_

"Same here, Slim."

"Stop it!" she screamed and fell again, this time slumping into the welcome numbness of the icy snow. "Please. No more. I can't do this. I can't." 

She lost track of how long she lay there, and she felt herself spinning into darkness, the kind of darkness that was comfortable and cleansing. There was nothing to anchor her to this world, nothing to stop her from hurting. 

Nothing to stop her from dying.

What's to keep me here? I know life without him. I can't do it again.

A thin layer of snow covered her face now and she felt like she was breathing nothing but the cold clean crystals. 

If I don't move...

It won't be long now...

We'll be together, Scott.

A part of her knew this wouldn't be what he wanted, shouldn't be what _she_ wanted. But without that other part of her, without half of her soul, she was lost. 

Fuzzily, she reached a tendril of her mind out one more time, just to make certain, to feel one last time the pain of being utterly alone.

And found something.

~Jean...~

So faint. But there. She inhaled sharply, a flurry of flakes clogging her throat.

~Scott?~

~Red, what are you doing? You're stronger than this.~

And then he was there. She closed her eyes and he was there, next to her in the snow, holding her head in his lap and stroking her hair away from her face. He looked so alive. So healthy. 

So Scott.

~How? How?~

He chuckled, the sound rumbling though her and making her world tilt to one side; she had missed that sound, that feeling. 

~You, of all people, are asking me how?~

Tears pricked her eyes. She had missed his humor. 

~And wasn't it you who once said that we have a track record of coming out on top, even when the odds are against us?~

She made a noise, a gasping sob, once, and then reached out for him. 

God, she had missed all of it. She had missed _him_.

~But you can't be real.~

~I'm here, right? Isn't that good enough?~

Her hand tightened around his arm and his hand touched her face now, gently, his fingers tangling in the ends of her hair. _~No. It's not good enough. You'll leave again...~_

He sighed, the practiced look of a born leader slipping onto his face. _~You know I had to. You know it was... meant.~_

~It-~

_~It's no one's fault. It was _meant_ to be like this.~_

She squeezed her eyes shut and thought back to that day, that day when Scott knocked Nate out of the way and tried to destroy Apocalypse. She remembered the last thing she had heard in her head, the last thing she had of Scott.

He had been laughing. Peaceful. Because he had been born for this, born to lead, born to die for what he thought was right. 

Born for her.

And here he was.

~Oh, Scott.~ 

"Jean."

She snapped her eyes open and saw him next to her, _really_ next to her, holding her face softly, looking like he had the day they had moved up here, clad in jeans and a sweater and the knit hat she had made for him. 

"Please don't leave me," she choked out.

"I'll never leave you," he said. "But you're needed here. And I have to go. We knew, as X-Men, we knew there would be sacrifices. But-"

"But we had each other," she finished.

He smiled, tears tracking down his face from beneath his visor. "Right."

They surged forward at the same time, touching every part of each other they could reach. Scott kissed her neck, her cheekbones, her eyelids, and her hands trailed under his shirt, feeling the warm skin there, murmuring, "Scott, Scott..." And she knew this feeling -- his skin under hers, his name on her lips, his mouth on hers, his mind in hers -- would be something she would never, could never forget.

And even though it may never be enough, she could live knowing she had those feelings, those memories, forever.

He pulled back and touched two fingers to her lips. She raised a shaking hand to his visor and tried to slip it off. He stopped her.

At her questioning look, he said, "No. As we were. Remember us as we were."

"Scott..."

He threaded one hand though her hair and put the other on her hip. "I love you, kid."

"Same here, Slim."

She blinked and he was gone. 

She stood slowly and returned to the house, clearing a path through the snow with hardly a thought. She smiled, remembering their first day: how she had "cleaned house," the look on his face when the snow was suddenly blown aside. 

Maybe their time together _was_ too short. Maybe it hadn't been enough. But the horrible, empty ache had subsided and she knew she could live, because she wasn't really without him; every time she closed her eyes, she knew he would be there, waiting for her.

A telepath doesn't forget. 

And Jean _couldn't_ forget.

She closed the door softly behind her and for the first time since Scott's death, felt at peace. 

In her head, he smiled, touched her mind once more, and said goodbye.

It was enough.

* * *

All original story elements and writing copyright 2000 [Jeanine Schaefer][1]. Please do not distribute this without my permission. If you want to archive it, just let me know; all comments, criticism, flames, marriage proposals, and death threats should be sent to [sparcck@hotmail.com][1].

**101-ism:** [http://members.nerve.com/sparcck][2]

   [1]: mailto:sparcck@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nerve.com/sparcck



End file.
